Red Demons
by kathiann
Summary: Secret Santa gift for tromana at jello forever. DARK! What happens if Jane and Lisbon have one night of comfort and then decide that it was a mistake? heed the rating, it's 'M' for a reason. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **This was my secret Santa gift for Tromana over at the jello forever forum. Not sure it fit the prompt "I don't want you but I don't want anyone else to have you either", but it's what came out when I sat down to write. Ok, so not quite. I've got another one that really fit, but it just...it didn't come. I'm two chapters into that and have no where to go because I just can't feel it. one day...Anyway, so this was also in part inspired by the songs "Being Drunk's a lot Like Loving You" by Kenny Chesney and "Who am I" by Smile Empty Soul. This is a dark fic, and I mean really dark. Not the darkest I've ever done, but still pretty dark. As such, I needed mood music :) to get in the mood. SO the sound track to this fic was provided by Cellofourte for the most part and also a bit of A Fine Frenzy and Amy MacDonald. A special thanks to lgmtreader for the beta and dealing with all my hemming and hawing over this. Some of this is her fault.

**Disclaimer: **I'm pretty sure when you read this you will know I don't own them, but to be on the safe said, I don't :)

**Red Demons **

The case had been hard on all of them. Cases with children always were, but Lisbon and Jane had taken it harder than the rest. Jane because he saw his daughter in the lifeless body of the six year old little girl that was found trashed by the side of the road, and Lisbon because it brought up memories of her childhood and her father who didn't know how to handle his grief.

They found themselves the last two left in this godforsaken town. The rest of the team had left early that afternoon when the murderer had been caught – the poor little girls own father – and it was clear that the local PD could handle the rest of the case. Lisbon and Jane had stayed around to make sure all the paperwork was complete; or rather Lisbon had, and Jane had just stuck around because he'd rather spend time with her than in a car with Abbott and Costello.

Jane and Lisbon ate dinner in silence at the same diner that they'd been eating at all week. The wait staff knew to ask minimal questions and basically to just leave them alone and the blond man would give them a huge tip; so they were able to just sit in the corner booth and think about the case, wallowing in the pain of remembering.

"My dad wasn't always violent," Lisbon said out of the blue, startling Jane from his memories of golden curls dripping with blood.

"No, I imagine he wouldn't have been," Jane said, in an attempt to bring himself into the conversation and away from his memories.

"He didn't start out violent when my mom died, he was just sad. It started slowly, the yelling and screaming; then he'd break furniture… it was me that he started hitting first, but my brothers, they always tried to protect me. There was one time, right before he died, that he got really drunk. I'd been out late at a friend's house, and when I came home he was in a rage, furious that I hadn't been there when he got home from work. He started going at me with his belt and then throwing glasses and books. My baby brother Jack…" she paused slightly, taking a deep breath. She wasn't looking at anyone or anything just staring off into space. Jane wondered if she was really talking to him, or if she was just talking to talk.

"My baby brother Jack, he had fallen asleep on the porch waiting for me. He woke up when the first glass broke; he tried to get my dad to stop. I don't think he really knew what he was doing by trying to stop him but it made my dad worse. He started using his fists, throwing punches – he was pummeling Jack with his bare hands. I tried to peel him off of Jack, but he was bigger, stronger than me. I had to hit him over the head with a lamp to get him to stop. I managed to get us all loaded up in the car and drove off to the hospital. When my dad woke up in the emergency room he couldn't remember how he got there or that he had beat Jack so bad that he was still unconscious. It was almost 24 hours before Jack woke up. He wasn't ever the same after that. Permanent brain damage. And my dad couldn't remember doing it."

She stopped talking then, the pain in her voice clearly evident. He didn't know what to say; he was at a loss. She didn't usually open up to him like that and now it was still shocking to him how his Lisbon, his strong confidant woman could have been a scared teenager. Someone who was attacked and beaten by a man who was supposed to love her.

"That little girl in the case…" Jane started talking, not sure what had possessed him – whether it Lisbon's story or his own desire for self-disclosure, he didn't know. "She looked like my little girl. So much like her. From the curls to the blue eyes just like her mom's. I try to remember the good times, the happy times and the smiles, but at night when I close my eyes the only thing I see is Abby's lifeless little body covered in blood." He could feel the tears pricking at his eyes; feel the lump in his throat.

"We really are a sad pair, aren't we?" Lisbon turned to face him now, the first time in over 20 minutes. Her meatloaf sat untouched on her plate. She placed her hand over his where it rested between their plates on the table, her thumb gently stroking his. He shifted slightly closer, not sure if it was a conscious decision or not.

"Misery loves company." He signaled for the waitress. He turned his hand over, now holding hers; his turn to caress her hand with his. The slight shiver didn't escape his notice, and he wondered about it. They paid, her the bill, him the tip, and went back to the hotel, not really touching, but close enough to be mistaken for lovers if it came to it.

They stopped outside the hotel room, only one now that it was just the two of them. The CBI wouldn't spring for another night for just them; this was on Lisbon's dime. He worked the key card with the mastery of someone who spent too much time in hotels and they walked in together.

Now in the room Jane took the chance to look at her, really look for the first time that week. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she had been crying or holding back tears, and they had the sunken appearance that comes from not sleeping. He knew she was looking at him and seeing the same thing. He took a tentative step towards her, pulling her into his arms, cradling her, stroking her back.

It didn't take long for her to touch him back, bringing her arms up to his back, resting her head against his chest, pulling him close almost as if she was afraid he would disappear if she let him go. She felt him rest his head on top of hers and that was her undoing, she felt the tears she'd been holding back for the past week falling down her cheeks landing on his chest. He felt her begin to tremble as the tears began to fall, and it broke his heart; she shouldn't be feeling like this.

Not thinking, he pulled back slightly, bringing one hand up to tilt her chin up so that he could look at her. "Don't cry Lisbon, you're safe now, it's safe now." He knew the words were hollow, that they didn't hold the same meaning that he was trying to convey. Knew that she was feeling the same as him, like the world had let them down, and knew that he just wanted the comfort that touch could bring. Not asking, he bent down and pressed his lips to hers, soft and not demanding, giving her the chance to pull away.

She didn't. She met his kiss with a temperance he thought was only possible by her, moving her lips across his slowly, softly, not deepening it. He broke it off, looking at her with a question in his eyes. This time she leaned in and kissed him, not as gently as before; a little more hunger behind this kiss. She broke it off before either could intensify it, though Jane had wanted to. There was a flash of something else in her eyes now, behind the pain and the sadness, an emotion Jane never thought he'd see in Lisbon's face: lust.

They both leaned in for the kiss at the same time, neither breaking it off when the urge to deepen it came. She felt his tongue against her lips, urging her to open her mouth to him; and she did, darting her tongue out to meet his, letting them duel quickly before moving to taste him, licking him. She nipped at his lower lip, sucking on it slightly, he made a sound that wasn't quite a moan, but had the same feel behind it.

She started kissing along his jaw, nipping, tasting, scraping her teeth along his neck, sucking and nipping as she wanted. His hands were in her hair, his neck thrown back to give her better access. She worked the buttons on his vest and shirt, pushing them off his shoulders. No undershirt and her hands were on his chest, feeling the subtle but obvious muscles that spoke of a hidden strength and power.

She scraped her nails across his flat nipples; feeling him shudder beneath her as it grew taught; and then his hands were on her shoulders, his lips on her neck, kissing on the soft spot behind her ear. A gasp that was almost a roar in the silent room, and he was slowly kissing his way down her neck, unbuttoning her blouse, following his hands with his lips, walking her backwards towards the bed and pushing her down as he reached the last button and pulled the shirt off.

He looked at her then, as if memorizing the sight of her in her almost-too-fancy-for-work bra; she'd always had a soft spot for fine lingerie. Having to grow up so fast, working in a mans world, sometimes she just wanted to dress up, and on days when she knew she wasn't going to be taking in people she wore her nice things. This one in lavender with matching panties he hadn't even seen yet. He cupped her breasts through the lace; thumbs tweaking her nipples, watching them form peaks. He reached behind her, taking care to remove the garment slowly as if unwrapping a gift; a deep breath in when he finally slid it off her arms.

She didn't have time to thinks before his mouth is on one nipple, his hand teasing the other, working in sync to bring them to hard peaks. He moved his mouth from one to the other, sucking and licking, a soft bite that made her buck against him. Hands trailing down her sides to her flat belly and her hips, fingers working the button on her pants, the zipper, like a pro.

His mouth followed his hands, leaving a trail of wet kisses that shivered in the cool air; he slid her pants down, smiling slightly as he saw the matching lavender panties. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband, he slid them off of her, not noticing where they went. He knelt in front of her and bent to place a kiss right on top of her mound, barely touching. He brought one hand down and parted her folds, letting one finger trace along her center, testing to see if she was ready before his tongue followed the same path.

She pulled him up then, holding his face in one hand while the other worked at the button of his pants. Nimble fingers made quick work of them as the hand used to undo his pants snaked their way inside his boxers to feel his already impressive length. Grasping him with her hand, she began to stroke his length, rubbing her thumb across his tip, rewarded with a hiss and a quick intake of breath.

He rolled off of her, shedding his shoes and pants before he rolled back on top, looking her in the face and leaning in for an open mouthed kiss.

She sucked his tongue into her mouth then thrust her tongue into his mouth in a rhythm that he matched with his hips, getting closer and closer to her opening each time. He broke the kiss to look down in a silent question, a quick nod and with one thrust he was in her, pleasure radiating from within.

He set a lazy rhythm at first, not wanting to rush. She brought one leg up around his waist, pulling him in closer, matching him thrust for thrust until he was losing control. He reached between their bodies and placed his thumb on her sensitive nub, letting their movement and thrusts set the pressure and friction. Holding on, hanging on until he felt her tightening around him, until he could feel her coming, and then he let go, riding out her wave of passion with one of his own.

He collapsed next to her spent and breathing heavily. She recovered first and lay on her side, pulling the blanket out from beneath them to cover their prone forms. They needed to talk, but for now that was forgotten, now all that mattered was they were spent and that they would be able to sleep tonight, sleep and not worry about fathers who hit and daughters who died.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: **Same warnings and ratings apply here, though not as bad.

**Disclaimer: **I own a new phone, that's about it.

Jane woke first the next morning, just as the sun was beginning to filter through the cracks in the blinds. He felt a warm pressure next to him and smiled as he remembered the night before; with her, it was amazing. He hadn't done that in ages, and to share it with Lisbon… that just made it that much more special. He braced himself up on his elbow slightly to look at her lying on her stomach. He had been curled up on his side next to her and he smiled at the thought of them being in such an intimate position.

He placed a hand on her back just to feel the smoothness of it and was puzzled; it wasn't as smooth and inviting as it looked. He leaned closer to look at her back and noticed old scars raised and pale against her skin. This, this was what she had talked about last night, a father who could harm his sweet precious baby girl like that. He couldn't think, he wanted to hurt the man that had done this; the knowledge that he was already dead did little to calm his raging emotions as he placed his hand even more firmly on her back.

She moved beneath him, moaning slightly, wiggling deeper into the mattress, closer to his warmth and his rage subsided slightly. This woman was more than just a stress screw, she was his friend, his boss for lack of a better term; what had he done? Not that it hadn't been just amazing; but, he mused as he stroked her back again, fingering the near invisible scars, she'd had too many men in her life that used her, abused her, and here he was just one more. Taking advantage of her in a moment of need, a moment of want.

This had been a mistake; no not a mistake, but an ill timed choice. Why had his stellar control failed him last night? Was it the confessions they had made? Was it the way she had looked? He had kissed her first – what had he been thinking? He was all wrong for her; he wasn't the person she needed, even if he did want her.

Slowly he extracted himself from her, from her bed, their bed; there was only one in the hotel room, had she planned that? He needed to be away from her to think; this close and all he wanted to do was gather her in his arms and kiss her, pretend that there was no world outside the door. Pretend that she wasn't Lisbon and he wasn't Jane and Red John didn't exist. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't get distracted from his goal; he couldn't allow himself to stray from his path of revenge. He had to do it. He had to get Red John; only then would he be free to move on.

There was really only one place for him to go. Shower, he had to go to the shower, had to escape, but he couldn't leave. The shower was warm, almost too warm, not helping as he thought of her. How he wished that he could just go back out there in her arms. A knock at the door and he almost jumps, slipping slightly, but not falling down.

"Hurry up Jane, others of us need to shower too and we've got a long drive ahead of us today."

"Be right out, Lisbon." This was going to be harder than he thought.

They didn't talk about it at breakfast, but Jane did notice that she touched him more than usual, casually, her hand on his as he opened the door, a bump of a shoulder as they were walking. Her gaze lingered on him as she talked, more so than normal.

Still, in the car, she was driving; he knew they had to talk before they got back to town, before they got back to work and back to the real world. "Lisbon, we need to talk."

Her hands on the steering wheel tightened. "No we don't." Denial.

"We do. Lisbon, last night…"

"We can pretend it didn't happen, Jane just don't say—"

"It was a mistake." He knew she didn't want to hear it, he knew it wasn't the truth, but it was the only way to go back, to pretend it didn't happen, to make her never think of it. Better to have her hate him than for her to be always grasping to that bit of hope, hope that would never be.

"No, Jane it wasn't, it wasn't a—" he cut her off.

"Yes it was. We were both emotionally charged, both not thinking. It was a mistake. We never should have done it." He saw the tears prick in her eyes, saw her blink them away. He'd caused her to cry. He almost told her the truth; that it wasn't a mistake, that he really loved her, that he never wanted to let her go, but he couldn't. "I'm not the man you want, Lisbon. You need to find someone who's not going to hurt you."

She didn't say anything the rest of the drive back. When they got to the CBI building she went inside without him, leaving him in the parking lot alone, like he always was, like he should be. He wanted to hit something. He had hurt her, he knew he would, but it was different seeing it spread across her face.

He didn't go up to the bull pen, didn't go up to his couch, that would be too comforting for him now, he was a royal bastard. He needed to be reminded of it. He drove away in his car slowly, knowing where he was going, knowing that he wouldn't be to work the next day, knowing that Lisbon wouldn't question it and would call if they really needed him.

Hours later, lying under that red face on his wall he realized that it wasn't to protect Lisbon that he pushed her away. It was because he was a coward, a coward that didn't want to take the chance that someone might be able to help him in his quest for vengeance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note: **Sorry this is late, in my defense, I've got the most adorable nephew in the whole world. Warnings for drinking in this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I don't even think I could get them to come play with me at this point.

Jane sighed rubbing his eyes and turning slightly on the couch. He hadn't been sleeping, but not because he was dreaming his regular dreams. What he wouldn't give for a dream of his wife and child drenched in their own blood, painted with their own blood, decorated in blood. No, instead he was dreaming of soft hands and warm kisses, gentle whispers and nips.

He sat bolt upright; this wasn't helping. He'd never been one for exercise, but he knew that it occasionally helped others relaxed enough to sleep. He had tried the pills; the dreams of _her_ still got in. Even Red John couldn't penetrate a drug induced state, and yet Lisbon still got in.

He had a pair of jogging shoes; he kept them for show mostly. He slipped them on now, hoping that in his less than athletic shape he could run himself to death; but knowing that wasn't going to happen unless he had a heart attack, and he didn't think that was going to happen either.

The streets of Sacramento were quiet and dark; that came with running at night. He felt odd in his rumpled suit running through the streets. He ran until he was out of breath and could not catch it, ending up outside a small dive bar just a few blocks from the CBI office. It was still open as it was only just past midnight, so he went in.

He had still had the images in his mind while running; and sure; he was winded, but hardly exhausted enough to fall into a dreamless sleep. Drinking wasn't something he normally did; in truth, he couldn't remember the last time he had a drink, well, maybe. He thought about it, and realized it was when his wife had died, and before he ended up in the hospital; so five, almost six years ago. He'd sworn off the alcohol, not liking the effects; usually he'd wind up blacking out. Somehow that seemed fitting now, to black out and not remember, just as her father had done.

"What'll you have?" The slightly overweight gruff bartender asked when Jane sat down at the bar.

"I don't know." Jane looked around the small dark room. Bars like this always made him think that there should be a cloud of smoke around the ceiling, but with the no smoking laws there was only a faint ring where years ago the smoke used to sit. "Something to forget."

The bartender smirked, handing him an evil looking brown liquid in a small glass. Grimacing Jane picked it up and swallowed in one gulp, feeling it burn and coughing after he'd swallowed. He couldn't speak for a minute, and when he did he addressed the bartender. "What the hell was that?"

"Something to forget." He poured another, sliding the glass to Jane. "What's her name?"

One gulp and a cough. "Who's name?"

"The woman, I see your ring, but you're out at midnight, makes me think it's woman problems, and that it's not your wife." The bartender poured a third but Jane didn't gulp it down, he just held it in his hands.

"No, it's not my wife." Jane paused; he could feel the alcohol churning in his stomach, already dulling his nerves and wits. He wondered if he should tell this man about his problems, how to describe what was going on without sounding like a complete ass. It wasn't going to be possible.

He downed the shot, less burn this time, his throat raw from the previous two. "The woman, she's someone at work. It was just a onetime deal, but…" He let the sentence hang in the air, waved off the the offer of another shot.

"Tough break," was all the bartender said. Not helpful. Jane looked at him, swimming in front of him as the alcohol finally started to have the desired effect. He pulled his wallet out, then realized he never had any cash with him, and only expired credit cards.

"Shit." His voice was slightly slurred. He pulled out his cell phone, only one person to call this late at night, she wouldn't mind. His finger hovered over number one, his first speed dial. What would she think if he called this late at night from a bar, obviously drunk? Would she think it was because of her he was drinking? Even if it was, he didn't want her to know that she had affected him that much.

He pressed the button. "Jane, what the hell do you want?" Not Lisbon.

"Rigsby, I need a ride and the $50 you owe me." He could hear the soft sound of a woman's voice in the background. Van Pelt; Jane's timing really did suck.

"Are you drunk?"

"Well, yeah, why else would I be calling you?" More muffled talking, Van Pelt wanted him to go to Jane, but Rigsby didn't want to leave his lovers warm arms; the thought of it almost made Jane want to cry. His lovers' arms were cold and empty tonight, and it was his fault.

"Let me talk to the bartender." Jane shrugged handed the phone over to the man behind the counter.

"It's for you." Jane half listened to the conversation, the bartender answering questions about where the bar was, how much was his tab, uncommented grunts, a nod of the head.

"Alright bud," the bartender handed back the phone, "I'm putting you in a cab and your friend is going to cover your tab in the morning. You work for the CBI; man sleeping with cops, it's a good way to get shot." The bartender just shook his head at Jane, though at this point it looked like he had two heads. "I'm putting you in a cab and adding it to your tab, how far you going?"

Jane thought; he really hadn't gotten that far with his running plan. "Just a few blocks, back to work, I'll sleep it off there."

He didn't see the sad shake of the bartenders head or notice when he picked up the phone, he just stared off into space until the bartender told him the cab was there. The ride back to work was quick, and Jane stumbled up the stairs and to the elevator, never more glad that the night guard knew him and wouldn't ask questions. He fell onto the couch, not thinking, and passed out; praying that the drink would numb his dreams as well as it had the rest of his body.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: **Sorry, my nephew was just so cute I forgot to update :)

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, or I wouldn't be cramming into a 12 person van with 12 strangers to get home.

Rigsby brought him coffee in the morning and a whispered "I know you prefer tea, but this should help with the after affects." He didn't say after affects of what, but they both knew. Jane ignored the pointed looks thrown his way from Van Pelt; just because she was sleeping with the person he'd called to come get him the night before didn't make it any of her business.

"You might want to go to the bank Jane." Van Pelt said at lunch time when everyone was going out. He still hadn't moved off the couch. He needed to, but not while Lisbon was there to see that he was even more rumpled than normal. He needed to go to the bathroom, brush his teeth; visit the small indoor gym and locker room that they had at the CBI building, but not while she was here, not while she could see him.

The alcohol had worked; last night had been a dreamless, if not restful, sleep. He'd woken unrested, but there had been no dreams of her hands on his body, of her lips on his, touching him, caressing him. His mind had been having her do things she hadn't even done, and he was glad to have a night off from. It was late now, most people gone for the evening, and he had spent the whole day 'sleeping' because he didn't want to face her. He heard her foot falls coming towards him; she was going to try to talk to him, he didn't know if he could handle that.

"Jane, did you sleep here last night?"

He kept his eyes closed, "Well, yes, but only because it was easier," and cheaper and quicker than a cab ride to Malibu, but she didn't need to know that. He really needed to get a new apartment here in town. He'd gotten rid of the last one he'd had; he never stayed in one place very long; a sense of normalcy wasn't what he was looking for.

"Jane, you really need to start taking care of yourself." He voice was tender and close to his face. He couldn't handle that.

"I'm fine, Lisbon. I don't need your concern." He tried to put as much disdain as possible into his voice, knowing that was the only way to get her to leave him alone.

"That's not going to work on me." And then her lips were on his, soft and tender, and his body ached for contact. And though he knew they were at work and that he shouldn't, he kissed her back, opening his mouth to her, their tongues meeting, nipping, sucking; everything he remembered and more.

He brought his hands up to stroke her hair; she'd worn it down today, making it easy for him to slip his fingers into it, down to her neck, pulling her closer, down on top of him, her weight a gentle pressure welcomed after all this time without it. And though it had only been two days since he'd felt her lips on his, her hands on his body it felt like an eternity and he was just now breaking a fast.

He moved his hands down her back—feeling her deceptively smooth shoulders—to her ass, cupping it, pulling her to him, grinding his hips against her. She's moving her hands down his face, his shoulders, between their bodies, her hands on his pants button…and neither cared that they were still at work, that this isn't something they should be doing, regardless of whether anyone was left in the building.

She pulled his zipper down, as he continued exploring her mouth with his, still massaging her ass, rocking her against him to feel the pressure. And then her hands were in his pants, circling him and he gasped against her mouth, breaking the kiss, moving to the spot on her jaw that she had loved so much just a few nights before. He moved his hands from her back to her hips, up her shirt and around to cup her breast beneath her shirt, over her bra. He wanted to touch her flesh, feel her naked against him.

He slid his hands under her bra, feeling her warm flesh, thumbs over her nipples her gasp causing him to buck against her in turn. He needed to taste her, feel her beneath him. Her weight on him, while nice, wasn't what he wanted to feel. He wanted to feel her squirming under him, wanted to feel his skin pressed against hers.

He slid on the couch until she was under him, trapping her hands where they were on his erection. He lifted his hips slightly, freeing her hands to continue massaging him as he undid her pants, tugging them down to her knees; his pants following, hands on her, feeling her hot center, ready for him, and feeling her move below him, wiggling to get more contact, aching to have him in her.

He had to see her face, had to see that _look_ when he pushed into her, that delightful look of pleasure. Struggling for control, he opened his eyes and saw…blackness, utter darkness. _What the hell?_ He took a deep breath, trying to reconcile what he had just experienced with what he was now seeing. He was on his stomach, that much he knew, and on his couch at work.

He must have been dreaming, dreaming that Lisbon had come to him even after he'd pushed her away, even after he'd told her that it was a mistake. It had all been a dream, his memories playing tricks on him. He assessed his body's condition; still fully aroused and in no condition to turn over. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone to check the time, needing to know if he had even been awake at all that day, or if it had all been a dream. It was 11:00 PM, he'd been awake, the coffee cup Rigsby brought him was still sitting where he had left it, it was just Lisbon that he had dreamed.

He needed a drink.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note:** I'd just like to remind everyone that this was rated for darkness as well as the more mature scenes. Just a reminder.

**Disclaimer: **I really don't even think they'd let me borrow them at this point.

He refused to drink tonight. Tonight she had gone on a date. It was a sign that the world was moving forward, that he hadn't scarred her for life – like he could have done that. He wanted to drink, but he wouldn't. He'd taken to keeping a bottle of whiskey in the drawer of his desk. He was the only one who ever sat at it, and that was even rare, so it wasn't likely to be discovered. He knew he could have just kept it with the other bottles that were left over from parties and wakes; but this was his personal stash.

He'd been doing well all things considered, he didn't drink when they were out of town on a case, not until he, or they, had solved it. But when they were in town, when the case load was light he found the pull of the drink that much more alluring. He found it the only think that could block out the memories that haunted his dreams and followed him into the waking hours. Dreams of _her._

He knew that she'd been seeing this _guy_ casually for the past few weeks. That was saying something. Not that he was paying attention; but her relationships didn't usually last past the second date. He knew that it was because most men couldn't handle her fierce sprit and the thought that at five-three she could easily take any of them. This new guy must have been different.

He decided not to stoop so low as to follow her, to see this mystery man that had her preening at work. He'd never seen her preen for any man. Tonight he needed a different distraction. He wanted to remember this weekend, so that on Monday when she came in with that delicious after glow that a good night of sex and loving will give a person he could remember why it was such a bad idea for him to be with her.

The drive to Malibu was long, but he was familiar with it and didn't let it bother him. He didn't pay attention to the scenery that he passed, didn't notice the coast when it came near. He drove on autopilot, until he found himself parked in front of his house. He sighed. It had been almost a month since he's been back here. He tended to avoid it when he wasn't on a Red John case, finding the constant memory of what happened almost too much to bear; but tonight, this weekend, he needed it – he needed to sleep under that smiley face on his wall painted in blood, needed to remember the pain and horror.

It was pushing 3:00 AM when he fell onto that ragged mattress on the floor of his spacious master bedroom. Knowing that sleep wouldn't come easy, he found the bottle of pills that he had left sitting next to his makeshift bed and swallowed one, hoping that a dreamless sleep would follow.

He knew he was dreaming; the same dream he always had in that room. Walking up the stairs, seeing that note and being unable to stop opening the door, his wife and child on the bed, blood everywhere, the things Red John had done to their bodies… but something was wrong. His wife had been blond when she died, and even when she'd died her hair darker, it was never this dark. This hair, falling in the face of Red John's victim was brunette, and her body was petite, smaller than his wife's but larger than his daughter. Who was… No, there was no way that it could be Lisbon; Lisbon was alive. She wasn't here, in this room, with the blood dripping onto the floor, staring up with unseeing eyes, her soul lost too soon.

He had to wake up, this was a worse dream than he had thought, he turned trying to run, but was being chased by that horrid face on his wall, all the incarnations of it he'd seen, studied over the years. He couldn't get away.

He flew up, staring at the wall, scrambling out of the bed, knocking over the small bottle of pills on his way to the other side of the room, staring at the face that was mocking him in its cheerfulness.

There was light filtering through the cracks in the tightly closed blinds. It must be morning. He needed to get out of the house; he needed to put distance between him and this symbol of his failure. He'd failed to protect his wife and child then, and he was failing at his job now, failing in protecting Lisbon by not catching the bastard who was still haunting the state of California.

He needed to go back to Sacramento, he needed to find out what was missing, needed to figure out how to catch this monster who was ruling his life. Then, then he could move on, then he could be with her, or at least, he could open up about why he'd pushed her way.

The drive back to Sacramento took longer than the drive to Malibu; it was always longer when driving in the afternoon. A half hour outside Sacramento his cell phone began to ring in his pocket, he'd almost forgotten about it. He welcomed the distraction while silently cursing it. He'd been on a mission and now, he was being distracted from that.

"Jane," he said answering the phone. He knew it was Lisbon from the caller ID, but he hadn't been in the mood to be cheerful – not after his dreams of his wife and daughter had been interrupted by dreams of her; she wasn't supposed to be haunting that dream too.

"We've got a case." Simple as that, no preamble, just the facts, just like she always was. But still, underneath there was an undercurrent of anger at her weekend being interrupted.

"Upset that it's running your weekend, Lisbon?" Banter, act like nothing had changed and she'd never suspect.

"My weekend plans are none of your business, Jane. Are you going to meet us at the CBI or at the scene?"

"Oo, testy. I'll meet you there." She curtly gave him the address and he hung up. As much as he'd hoped that his pitiful attempts at banter would restore some of the normal – restore their relationship to the way it had been before he'd ruined it, before he'd told the best thing that had happened to him in over six years that it was a mistake, that he'd made a mistake in sleeping with he – it hadn't. If anything, his less-than-subtle inquiries into her private life and gentle barbs served only as a reminder of what he'd held in his hands so briefly and then lost.


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors Note: **Just a reminder that this is rated for alcohol use and all that goes with it.

**Disclaimer: **No, not mine.

Fifty cases and six months latter and Lisbon was still seeing the same guy that she'd been seeing the night Jane had gone back to Malibu and had that horrific dream. Only now, her boyfriend was coming around the office to pick her up and she was leaving on time on slow days to spend time with him, and Jane was drinking more.

He'd developed a system that worked well for him. On nights where Lisbon left late he would go to the bar down the street. The bartender knew him now. Jane had given him his credit card the first time he'd been back after having to be poured into a cab, he'd stated a tab and the bartender – Jack was his name – had no problem running the number the nights he was there. He'd been going to the bar less and less lately.

On nights when Lisbon left early, or rather on time, to meet with the _guy,_ Jane would drink at the office. It was easier that way. He could drink more, sleep it off and already be at the office for work in the morning without having to worry about getting there.

He'd only been back to Malibu once since that last time. It had been after a particularly hard case, similar to the one after which he had slept with Lisbon; but this time there had been no sexual relief from the pain and misery. Well, at least not for him. He had stayed late with Lisbon that last day, just as he had before, only this time she was not alone and they had two hotel rooms. Since they were technically off the case and not on the clock the boyfriend had come to the small town to spend time with her in the picturesque setting.

That had been the first night he'd drank while out of town on a case. He knew Lisbon would be too busy to notice and if he were quiet the next day on the ride back she'd probably welcome it. So far she hadn't seemed to notice his drinking habit.

He'd left for Malibu that same morning, telling the team that he needed some time off. They were all a little shocked that he was asking for a break; none of them challenged him. He was hoping that the dream of blood and Lisbon had been a onetime thing, that it wouldn't be repeated and that he would have the strangely comforting images of his wife and daughter to haunt his dreams. He hadn't been lucky. It had been worse than before. Now as he walked the stair he could hear his own voice in his head, taunting him with those words he'd told her all those months before – _It was a mistake…We never should have done it_ – and twisting their meaning _I'm just going to hurt you_. And then it had been blood on _his_ hands, _him_ drawing that retched face on the wall, the knife in _his_ hand, and her asking him why, why had he hut her.

That dream, that was worse than any of the others. He'd rather be haunted by dreams of her skin on his, his hands on her, than dreams of his causing her death, real or imagined. By his own hand or by the hand of Red John it was the same. HE was the one responsible, the one at fault.

The only time he didn't drink know was when they were out of town; he hadn't done it since that one time, and didn't plan to do it again. There was more risk that someone would notice and say something. He refused to think that he had a problem because he didn't. He was just using another method to get rid of his problems, those dreams. He had tried the pills that the doctor gave him, but they didn't work near as well as the alcohol did at getting rid of the dreams of Lisbon. Why it worked on dreams of Red John and finding his wife and daughter butchered in their home and not on dreams of Lisbon's mouth on his he didn't know; but one day he would figure it out. Until then, he would keep drinking. Until he could find a way out.

He wondered tonight if he would be drinking in jealousy or just out of habit. He knew he didn't have a right to be jealous, but he almost couldn't help it. Every time he saw her with _him_ he just felt his gut wrench. Jane knew he – the boyfriend – had a name, it was a very good name he was sure, he just didn't care to know it. Jane knew that the boyfriend had a good job, and that he was a fine upstanding citizen, but he didn't care. It was Lisbon; no man was good enough. Jane knew he had told her to go find someone who wouldn't hurt her; he just hadn't expected her to actually do it.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to check the time, easier than wearing a watch and quicker than finding a clock. Almost quitting time for the normal business day. No new case today, just warp-up and follow-up on cases that they had already closed or that he hadn't worked on so he knew that it was possible that Lisbon would be leaving on time tonight. Rigsby and Van Pelt were already packed up, just waiting until it wouldn't seem like they were escaping together to leave. Cho, ever vigilant, was waiting until the stroke of the clock before he gathered his things and then Jane knew that he would be gone. Jane had been doing the drinking thing long enough now that he could still function during the day, unlike that first time. He'd heard Cho on the phone confirming reservations for dinner and knew he had a date. Assured that his powers of observations were as keen as ever Jane didn't think anything of his nighttime activities.

Lisbon though, she was still a mystery. He contemplated going to her office and asking her what she had planned for the evening, but that would entail tailing to her in a way that he hadn't really since that night. Or rather since she had started dating the boyfriend. He hadn't been able to talk to her the way he had in the past, hadn't been able to just casually strike up a conversation. He didn't know why, didn't want to think of why really. He didn't want to run the risk that she would be able to discern his secret and know that she had affected him so much.

He stood and walked casually around the bullpen, chatting with secretaries and people on other teams. He avoided talking with the three people he worked with the most, he didn't want them to suspect anything either. He'd been distant for so long now that a change from that might cause them to wonder. He made a cup of tea he didn't intend to drink – he had to keep up the appearances of normality after all – and made his way back to his couch to sit and watch.

Rigsby and Van Pelt were gone, and Cho was just leaving, but the light in Lisbon's office was still on. Maybe tonight would be a night she didn't go out.

It was getting late; they were the only ones left in the building, or at least their floor; and he hadn't had one drink yet. He knew that was a good thing. He was just getting up the nerve to actually walk to her office, to inquire about her day when the elevator dinged. He looked in the direction and the boyfriend stepped out. Jane growled, _he _was here. _What was he doing here?_

Jane watched as Lisbon came out of her office to meet him half way. And then _he_ kissed her. Jane knew that there was no way they'd been dating for over six months and hadn't kissed, hadn't had sex. But until he saw it with his own two eyes he could pretend it wasn't happening. It was one thing for Jane to know in the back of his mind that it was going on, but another thing entirely to see it in front of his face. It was late; she probably didn't even realize that Jane was still there. He watched in horror as what had been a gentle hello kiss morphed into something hard, needy and open-mouthed. The sight of it made his stomach churn; but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't turn away.

He wanted to make himself known, let them know they had an audience, but was frozen to the spot. He watched as the other man's hands roamed over Lisbon's body, touching her, caressing her, needy and harsh. Jane needed to do something; he needed to stop the torture. The fact that she was obviously enjoying it made it just that much worse. Mentally shaking himself he gathered his courage about him and stood, making as much noise as possible in the process to let them know he was there.

"Jane, I didn't know you were still here." Lisbon broke the kiss when the noises he was making became clear, but did not back up from the embrace.

"Yeah, um, just, uh, getting ready to leave." He stood a distance away; he didn't trust himself to get closer.

"Have you met Simon?" She asked, only now backing up slightly, but keeping her left arm close around her boyfriend.

"No, I don't think I have." Jane still didn't move. He watched Simon, his brown hair neatly cut and green eyes that shone in the dim light of after hours at the CBI.

"OK." Lisbon noticed the odd way Jane was acting. She had been noticing it for the past 6 months or longer – she was losing count – but this was the first time she'd observed it up close and personal. She was about to say something else when Jane turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, away from the elevator and towards the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors Note: **So this is where I left off when I posted this over at Jello Forever. Personally I like this ending, but it was pointed out to me that most people would probably like a bit more, so, there's an option here. Let me know if you want me to go on...I've got one and a half chapters written and just sitting there waiting to see if people want them. So, let me know if you like the ending or if you want more. Or if you like the ending and want more, that works too. Special thanks to lgmtreader for being beta on this.

**Disclaimer: **No.

Jane didn't know where he was going, only that he couldn't stay there, standing, staring at them – the happy couple – any longer. He'd had no desire to know anything about Lisbon's boyfriend, and avoided learning his name – Simon—because knowing would just bring that much more pain, make it that much more real. He didn't want to go down, more chance to run into _them_, so when he came to the stairs he went the only other option available to him…up.

He'd never been to the roof before, he didn't even know if he'd be able to get the door open, or if there was an emergency alarm, but he was in luck. It wasn't chained or locked and there was no alarm. A fleeting though, that this would be the point of entry of anyone were to ever try to infiltrate the CBI, almost made him smile. He surveyed the surrounding buildings. It wasn't the tallest building in the area by any means, but it wasn't the shortest either. The landscape of Downtown Sacramento laid out before him, the lights shimmering in the cool night air.

It was peaceful and serine up here; his only regret was that he hadn't thought to grab his bottle as he fled from Lisbon. He didn't know how long they were going to be down there and he could really use a drink. Why had he over-reacted that way? He knew that it was Lisbon's right to date whomever she pleased; he just didn't want her to. He wanted her to pine after him the same way he was pining after her.

He needed a drink. That was the only way to stop feeling like this. It always worked, dulled the pain, the longing, the ache. It made him forget; caused him to black out. He needed it. He didn't know how long he'd been up here, but he didn't care, he was sure that Lisbon and _Simon_ would be gone by now; why would they stick around the office? Slowly making his way down the stairs he wondered when he'd become so pathetic? He'd never cared before if someone had liked him. He'd swindled dying girls and old women out of their life savings; he shouldn't care about a woman whom he had told to move on, who actually had.

The bullpen was dark and silent; Lisbon had left. While he knew he should go out, he just couldn't bring himself to leave; that would take more energy than he wanted to expend. The only thing he wanted to do right now was throw back a few shots and fall into oblivion.

* * *

His head hurt, which was unusual. He usually kept the level of alcohol in his system to a point where the side effects of the drinking were at a minimum. His goal at present was to become one of those old men who drank so much they were essentially pickled. The only explanation was that he was awake earlier than he usually was. He hadn't heard his phone ringing, and judging from the level of light shining through his eyelids it was still very early, so it wasn't possible for everyone else to be here.

He opened his eyes and slowly sat up, only noticing the three people surrounding his couch when he'd rubbed the sleep from his eyes and had stretched his hand out to find the bottle he knew should still be near the edge of the sofa.

"It was her idea." Were the first words spoken by Cho who was looking at Van Pelt.

"Jane, we're worried about you." Her voice was kind and caring. She had pulled a chair up right in front of his couch; it was amazing he hadn't run into her when sitting up. How had he not noticed her?

"I'm fine."

"Liar." Rigsby snorted under his breath, but Jane still shot a pointed look at him.

"No, really, I'm fine." He was really. Or would be if they would leave him the hell alone.

"Jane, I don't know what happened with you and Lisbon, but since that case almost a year ago you've been acting…odd."

"Odd? That's what you're basing this early morning chat on, that I've been acting odd?" It really was ridiculous.

"Jane. We care about you. Don't think that we haven't noticed that you've been spending more nights here than you usually do."

"I need to get a new apartment; hotel rooms get expensive, and we've been on a lot of out of town cases lately. I just haven't had the time."

"Oh, please. Jane, we all know that's a load of crap." Rigsby pushed himself off his desk where he had been leaning. "You haven't been sober for longer than a week since that first night you called to have me some get you."

"Which you didn't," Jane cut in, not liking the way their ambush was going.

"Jane, you think you've been hiding it well, but you haven't. I don't know what happened with you and Lisbon; I don't care, but come on. Do you really think that your wife would want to see you – "

"Do NOT bring my wife into this sham of an intervention." Jane said, standing abruptly not caring that the world was swimming around him. "I do my job, I stay out of your way, I expect you to do the same for me." Pushing past Van Pelt, he ignored Rigsby's attempts to call him back, and speed up when he heard the sounds of Cho pursuing him.

How _dare_ they bring up his wife? They didn't know what she would have wanted. Jane didn't know where to go. It was still early; the sun wasn't even fully up yet. He knew if he went out to the parking lot he ran the risk of being spotted if any of them were watching the window. He rounded the corner to the elevator and heard the gears moving signaling someone coming up. He ducked into the small room next to it to hide; didn't want someone to see him and tip off the team.

He caught the sound of a familiar laugh as the elevator door slid open. Lisbon was here, had she been invited to the teams embarrassing display? She was talking on the phone, it was soft and he couldn't hear, but he knew she was talking to Simon. Five months after that _kiss_ and she was still dating him.

"Hey, Boss, have you seen Jane?" Van Pelts voice was close, right outside the door, and he flattened himself against the wall.

"No, I just got here." She said her voice light and happy. He heard a small gasp come from Van Pelt, a happy and surprised sound.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah, he asked me last night!"

"It's so gorgeous! How did he ask?"

"We went to the movie in the park. A cheesy old romantic comedy, and just as the man on the screen got down to ask, he had the ring box right there, it was so sweet."

"Oh, how romantic!" Jane stood in shock. _Marriage?_ That man had asked Lisbon to marry him? How the hell had that happened? He stopped listening intently to the sounds of the women coming from the other side of the door. He didn't care. He'd never thought it would come to this. He really had lost it all now. It was a few seconds of silence before Jane realized that the two women had moved on from the hallway.

Jane needed to get out, but knew that it was too early for the bar to be open. In the past few months he'd taken to going up to the roof to think at night, and that's where he headed now. He had a bottle stashed there; he knew he was going to need it today.

The sun was just rising in the east when Jane reached the top of the tallest building he had access to. He was struck by the beauty as the golden rays lit up the sky, tinting the clouds shades of red and orange. He laughed bitterly as he pulled his bottle from under an old upturned five gallon bucket. He leaned against the edge of the small wall designed to keep people from falling off the roof. The sun warmed his face and worked quickly with the alcohol to numb his frazzled nerves. He found himself thinking about what had happened after his wife had died.

He'd tried to end things, end the misery he'd been in when he'd walked into that room. And somehow, this pain, while different, was entirely the same too. He'd lost someone near and precious to him; and it had all been his fault; again. How did he manage to always hurt the ones he loved? He thought about that dream he'd had, where it had been his hand thrusting Red John's knife into Lisbon's side; and knew that while she was still alive, she might as well be dead to him.

He took another swallow of the harsh liquid, his throat used to the burn now, and he didn't wince as it crashed onto his empty stomach. He looked out over the city and saw the cars below. He wasn't very high up, but he knew how to work this. He knew if he broke his neck it was as good as jumping off a fifty-foot building. He just had to go over head-first.

He wondered briefly what it would feel like, falling down, and thought it was a pity he wasn't on a higher building. When he'd lost his wife it had been pills that he had tried to end it with. It hadn't worked; someone had found him. This time, this time there would be no turning back.

He climbed onto the short wall and took one last look around him at the rising sun before closing his eyes and letting go.


	8. Alternate ending 1

**Authors Note: **To now there have been no spoilers, but there are now, tiny ones for Throwing Fire. This is an alternate to the alternate endign that I've got. This chapter is specifalclyl dedicated to Eve215, MentalistLover, and HOUSEM. D. FanForever who's reviews got me thinking, which any one how knows me, knows is a bad idea. This chapter will not be everyone's cup of tea, and if you're not wild about character death, don't read it, wait till the next chapter.

**Disclaimer: **Is there still even a question of this at this point? I didn't think so.

It almost seemed fitting that the day they put him in the ground it was sunny with storm clouds on the horizon. That's the way it had always been, it seemed. He seemed always and perpetually happy and cheerful, while always in the background had been a darkness that none of them had fully realized until it was too late.

The morning of their intervention hadn't gone as planned, and when Lisbon had shown up and Van Pelt was distracted for just a minute from searching for the wayward consultant it was all the time he had needed to end it. It had hit Lisbon the hardest, though she wouldn't tell the rest of the team why.

How do you tell the people that you work with, that you see every day, that you consider your friends, that it was your fault that someone killed themselves? No, not directly, but in its own way it was her fault. If she hadn't flaunted Simon in front of him, if she'd just pressured him a bit more about that 'mistake' from a year ago… She had seen him growing distant, seen all the same signs that her father had shown in the beginning right after her mother died… But she had fooled herself into thinking that it was nothing, that it was her imagination. And now they were standing around his grave.

He had no family, no one to speak on his behalf besides her; it was in the will that they found in a file in his desk. Changed just after he had joined the team; although Lisbon suspected that he had changed it thinking that it would be her or Red John that would do him in.

So she had planned the funeral. Her fiancé couldn't understand why it was so hard for her to bury a guy that had meant nothing to her, who had simply been a colleague; but how was she going to tell him that she had loved him, and that because of that she had let him slide into the depression that had prompted him to end his life. She wondered what it had been that finally pushed him to take that swan dive off the building. She doubted that it had been the intervention; it had to have been something more. As she stood staring at his casket, above the empty pit that would keep him forever, she wondered, and not for the first time, if he had somehow found out about her engagement. She wondered if that bit of information had pushed him over the edge.

She knew that her relationship with Simon had hurt him, but she hadn't thought anything of it. He had been the one to call it a mistake, hadn't he? And in a childish sense of punishment for him she had gone out of her way to show him that she didn't need him… how wrong had she been.

Cho stood staring at the casket. He had flowers sent to the funeral home, which had brought them to the graveside for the service. No church for him, he wouldn't have wanted it. Just his friends, standing there looking at the representation of his earthly form.

He gotten there too late, just seconds too late. He had gotten to the roof in just enough time to see Jane plunged over the edge, head first. He tried to grab him, but it was too little, too late. They were all a bunch of idiots. They knew that he was on edge, that he was in a fragile state, but that didn't seem to matter, they pushed ahead anyway. Even if it had been Van Pelt who had insisted on that sham of an intervention, there were things they could have done. They should have had more people there; they should have had the department shrink there -- anyone who could have seen what he was planning. They should have had Lisbon there.

His death had hit her the hardest; it was like she blamed herself, like she felt responsible. Cho couldn't figure it out, but figured it had something to do with that case a year ago. Jane'd been changed after that; Lisbon too, but in a different way. Jane had sunk back in on himself. Lisbon had pushed out, gone out of her comfort zone, that's how she'd met what's-his-name… the guy who was standing beside her now at the grave, unaware of her body language that was screaming 'leave me alone'.

He shook his head. It had to be that relationship that pushed him over the edge at last. He hadn't seemed suicidal when they'd been talking to him, irrational maybe, but that's not the same as suicidal. They'd screwed up. And now they'd lost him forever.

A condolence card of sorts had shown up at the CBI just days after Jane's death. It had been all over the news; of course it would be, he jumped off the roof of a building housing government employees. That's always good for the ratings. The card had been… it hadn't been what anyone had been expecting. From Red John and including just a few words, but the ones that got the team the most were right below the platitudes of "I'm sorry for your loss." In blood red ink Red John had pinned the words "I win" before his signature mark. That had been the moment for Van Pelt when she realized that it would never be the same.

Red John was a monster; he'd mocked Jane in his life, and now in his death. She knew firsthand what someone taking their own life could do to a family group, and was determined not to let that monster add to the pain they were all suffering. She'd been the one to go to Jane's house to see what needed to be cleaned up when Lisbon had been planning the funeral. She'd had no idea that he'd kept the house that the murders had happened in until she got there and walked up those stairs. That smile on the wall, that symbol of his misery. No wonder he'd always seemed depressed just below the surface.

What pushed him over she didn't know, but whatever it was, she felt slightly responsible. She'd stopped looking, just for a minute, when she'd seen Lisbon show up with that ring, and it hadn't been until Cho raced past her to the stairs that she remembered what they were doing. They were looking for Jane, because she'd had the idea that he needed to be stopped. From the first night that Jane had called Rigsby to get a ride from that bar she knew he'd been falling, but she hadn't done anything to stop it.

She knew it wasn't really her fault; it was just survivors' guilt – that's what the shrink had told her after her sister's death. That it was natural to feel like there was something you could have done. But this time she really thought there was something they could have done. They knew he was practically living at the CBI, that he was drinking; they had watched him deteriorate slowly and then more quickly over the past few months, and they could have stopped it. They could have confronted him in a different place in a different time, but they didn't; they chose to do it then and there, because she had said that's when it was best.

She had just started looking again when she'd heard Cho's yell and screams from outside. She looked out the window to see Jane there, on the ground…a sight she would never forget. She shuddered at the memory and Rigsby pulled him to her, but she shrugged out of his embrace, she didn't want to be comforted right now. She wanted to feel the pain; she _needed_ to. It was her fault really, and because of her Red John thought he was home free. Well, she was going to prove him wrong. She was going to do what Jane hadn't had the time to finish; she was going to get Red John.

Rigsby was still shell-shocked. He didn't know what to think, really. Van Pelt was withdrawing from him, the boss was acting like she'd lost a lover, and Cho was distant and angry. And here he was, hopeless and helpless. He hadn't wanted to have the intervention, and went along with it because Van Pelt suggested it; he'd done pretty much everything she said to do. And now to see her hurt because of this man… he felt the anger bubbling up inside. He wanted to yell, scream, do anything, but he didn't. There was a time and place for that, and this was not it. He needed to get away from here. He'd always hated cemeteries, they reminded him of death, and he couldn't have that.

He was the first to leave that day, to walk away, but he was always the one to come back, yelling and screaming at the stone reminder of the man lying below. Every time Van Pelt shut him out to chase a lead on Red John; every time the boss ended an out of town case, unfocused and distracted, looking around as if lost; every time Cho sat and stared at that brown leather couch. Rigsby came back, if for nothing than because he couldn't let his rage out any other way.

Van Pelt only came back once, the day she put a bullet in Red John's head in 'self defense.' She had to let him know that his quest for vengeance was won. Had to let him know that Red John had, in the end, lost.

Cho, Cho never did come back. He just went up to that roof whenever a case got too much, whenever he thought that one of Jane's insights would go a long way to solving a case. He'd go up there and remember the man that was and the way things could have been.

Lisbon didn't let anyone know, but she was there every week. Talking to him the way a widow would talk to her husband's grave. She stayed with Simon because she felt she needed to, and by some miracle he didn't leave her; but every week she was there, rain or shine, telling him about cases and about how sorry she was that she hadn't done more for him when he had been there, hadn't done more so that he didn't end up like everyone she had loved, six feet under and always to be longed for.


	9. Alternate ending 2 part 1

**Authors Note: **This was my original alternate ending. It will be two chapters, more if you all ask, but as of right now, just the two. No death warnings on this chapter :) Doesn't that make you happy? Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, and to lgmtreader for the beta.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned them I would be in California, not in Statistics and tiny little Dixie College.

Jane had just tipped his feet to go off the building when he felt a tug at his arms and the sensation of falling... backward? He felt off balance and waved his arms in the air, turning until he was facing the roof and falling flat onto his 'savior' Cho.

"What the hell, Jane? Were you doing what I think you were doing?"

Jane couldn't speak. Cho was crushed beneath him, but he couldn't seem to move. He'd gotten so close; so close to ending it all and now he was back; back to this pain, this misery of life and existence. An existence where Lisbon was getting married and where he was stuck in a destructive path of revenge and hatred for a person that he would probably never see brought to justice. The realization of what he'd almost done overwhelmed him, and he began to shake uncontrollably.

He felt Cho shifting beneath him until he was cradled in his arms; Jane didn't even care that he was in such an undignified position. He felt the emotions that he'd been killing with the poisonous alcohol begin to surface; the pain, the despair. He felt the sobs start to wrack his body, tears streaming down his face, not caring that it was Cho witnessing this pitiful display.

Cho didn't know what to do, other than hold Jane as he sobbed. It had been Grace's idea to meet this morning to talk to Jane. They had all known that he'd gone downhill fast since the case with the little girl a year before, but they had no idea it was this bad.

"God, what was I thinking?" Jane sobbed out. "I loved her; I forced her away from me. I made her go, and now… I've lost her forever. It was just like my dream, only I think I'd rather not be here to see it. I told her it was a mistake, that I would only end up hurting her; but look how it's turned out. She's happy and I'm in pain, so much pain." He tried extracting himself from Cho's arms, he needed a drink. The drinking was the only thing that had stopped him from thinking of her; the only thing that had been able to keep him focused enough to work, the only thing able to remove the pain and phantom touches. He pulled himself roughly out of Cho's arms, going to where he had left his bottle by the bucket, and snatched it up angrily.

"I need a drink," Jane said, opening the bottle and taking a deep swallow. Cho angrily grabbed the bottle from his hands, throwing it violently across the roof. Jane winced as he heard the bottle shatter.

"So they were right. I didn't think you were really drinking that much; I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, trying to see you as a good guy here, but this... This is just self-torture. Did you ever once think about what it was doing to the rest of us? Did you even once think that maybe Lisbon was just as devastated by this whole mess as you were?"

"She seems fine to me. She just got engaged, she hasn't been tortured by thoughts of Red John killing her, destroying her like he's done everyone I've ever loved. She hasn't been caught up in dreams that…" No, Cho didn't need to know about their night together, that was his and his alone.

"That's what this is about?" Cho asked Jane. Jane just ignored him, pacing around the roof. The display of emotion was unusual from Cho, and he didn't quite know how to deal with it. "You're going off the deep end because you're a _coward_?"

That last word caught Jane off-guard, stopped him in his tracks. Was he a coward? Had he been a coward? Using alcohol as a means of escape instead of dealing with his emotions, instead of talking about them. He had been, hadn't he? He collapsed onto his knees; he was a pathetic mess. He really needed to get away from here, away from the team and the building, get away to somewhere he could think. The easy way out was no longer an option, now that Cho had caught him at it.

"I've got to get out of here."

"Not so fast, Jane. I don't think that's a good idea, you've been drinking."

Jane choked back a laugh. Of _course_ he'd been drinking. Drinking had slowly become an integral part of his life over the past year, to the point that in the last five months he'd been drinking almost every day. Rigsby had been right, he hadn't been sober more than a week in the last year.

"Are you going to stop me?" Jane asked, with a touch of bitter humor in his voice. He knew Cho was stronger than he was, but at the same time, Jane knew that he could get out of any hold Cho could pull on him.

"He might not stop you, but we will," came a voice from behind him. Rigsby and Van Pelt had found them. They were both panting slightly after running up several flights of stairs.

"What's going on?" Van Pelt asked, coming up slightly behind Rigsby.

"Jane was trying to learn to fly," Cho said, his usually dry wit not really helping in this situation.

"Jane?" the concern was evident in her voice, as she looked him straight in the eyes. Jane found he couldn't look at the love and concern on her face; he had to look away.

"Is it really that bad, whatever it is that you've got going on in your life, that you can't talk to us about it? That you have to hide it with alcohol, that you think you have to end it like this?" She shortened the distance between them, not noticing as he flinched from her gentle touch on his arm. "Jane, we care about you, why didn't you tell us something was going on sooner?"

"Nothing's going on, Grace." The use of her first name was a calculated risk; he knew it always threw her a bit when he used it, and he was counting on it now to distract her enough for him to get past them and leave.

"I can use first names too, Patrick."

She started to speak again when the sound of the door opening behind them interrupted her. Lisbon walked out onto the roof, looking around at her team assembled there: Cho covered in dust, Van Pelt with her hand on Jane's arm, and Rigsby looking like he was standing guard. Jane knew she was looking at him too, taking in his rumpled suit and his red-rimmed watery eyes, still puffy from when he lost control and was sobbing earlier. He knew the smell of alcohol was everywhere from the broken bottle.

"Guys, what's going on?" Lisbon asked, a touch of wariness in her voice.

"Just looking at the sunrise," Jane evaded, wondering if any of the team would contradict him. It hadn't escaped his notice that they had all pinpointed that case as when he had started to go downhill; he knew that they all must realize that it was Lisbon that he had been running from all this time. Would they share with her what they had discovered, would they share with her his embarrassment?

"I'm not stupid, Jane. What the hell is going on?" Now less wariness and more frustration tinged her voice at being kept out of the loop.

The rest of the team stood there. Jane could tell they were trying to decide how to explain this to Lisbon. Mentally he placed a bet on it being Rigsby who spoke first; he let a pitiful smile escape when he was proved right.

"We're here to help Jane. We've been concerned about him, with good reason, and today seemed as good a day as any to talk to him about it."

Lisbon looked at Rigsby for a moment before looking back at Jane. "I just got a call from security; apparently someone across the street saw someone who looks like you try to take a swan dive off the building. What were you thinking?" She stepped towards him, coming to stand beside Van Pelt who moved over slightly, letting the boss stand in front of her charge. "Were you really going to jump?"

"No, of course not; I was just looking at the sunrise." He wondered if he kept repeating it often enough he could convince her of it. Convince himself.

"Jane." Her voice took on a note of pity and she pulled him to her; she circled her arms around him, holding him loosely, but closely. "You need help, Jane, we all know that; let us help you, let us take you to the hospital, they can help with whatever your problem is."

He panicked; he saw the concern in her eyes, an echo of the look she'd given him when she had found out about his stay in the mental hospital. She of all people knew what it had cost him to admit that to her, how that situation had scarred him. He couldn't stand to be locked up again, to be forced to go through all the degrading and dehumanizing therapies that went along with the "treatment" for his "illness." He couldn't take the risk that she would make him go there, couldn't believe that she would be the one to cause even more pain. But she _knew_ – and she was still doing it.

"NO," he bellowed. He wasn't going to take pity from her, wasn't going to take comfort from her. He'd done it once, and where had that landed him? Another nervous breakdown, this time in front of all the people at work who thought they cared about him.

He could tell by the look on her face that he had shocked her, that she hadn't expected him to fight her. He looked around wildly. He knew that for now his plan to jump had been thwarted; he had to think of something else. Reacting quickly, he pushed Lisbon out of the way and into Rigsby, dodged around the frightened-looking Van Pelt, and ran toward the stairs. He knew he surprised them with how quickly he was moving in his inebriated state. He rushed down the stairs, winded by the exertion, and kept going until he reached the exit to the ground floor, the lobby, the path to the outside, the path to **FREEDOM**. He needed to get out, he needed to escape.

"Jane, Jane, come back!" He heard shouts – he didn't try to differentiate the voices – calling to him, telling him to stop. He heard them chasing him, the commotion of yelling – _stop him, don't let him go_ – but the people he passed were confused. They all knew him and couldn't figure out why his friends and colleagues would be chasing him like a criminal. Jane didn't care, he was running on a purely primal instinct now, running because he was being chased. Wasn't this why suspects always ran when they were cornered? Why even the innocent ran? Because they were being chased? But he didn't have time to think about that now, he needed to escape, needed to get away, needed to run.

He ran to his car, still gasping for breath; he hadn't exerted himself like this in ages. He found to his chagrin that he couldn't get the car open, he didn't have keys. He looked around and saw Rigsby and Cho coming quickly toward him; he knew Lisbon would be there right behind, he couldn't stand to let her catch him. He turned and ran out the main gates, right into traffic, not caring or noticing that there were cars coming from both directions. He heard horns honking and tires squealing, and felt the pain from the impact as he flew over the hood of the car that was unable to avoid him – his last thought "_I won"_ before the world went black


	10. Alternate ending 2 part 2

**Authors Note: **Ok folks, this is it. Thanks for taking this long winding jeourny with me. THanks to everyone who read and reviewed, and to lgmtreader for beign my beta and just letting my throw ideas off of her until something stuck.

**Disclaimer: **I wouldn't even pretend to own them.

He was at home. Odd, he could have sworn he was just at the CBI. He remembered being on the roof; Lisbon was there, so were Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt. But it was Lisbon he was remembering now. She had found out that he had been drinking – not that there was anything wrong with that, he was still doing his job just fine. But now he was home, and he was alone.

It was a beautiful day, the sun was streaming through the windows. He could feel the breeze and smell the salt air coming in the open back door. He smiled and walked towards it. There would only be one reason that the back door was open, his wife and daughter were out there. He stepped out onto the porch looking out over the backyard that fell to the beach… and she was there.

He paused when he saw her. This wasn't quite right, it wasn't his wife, it was… Lisbon. He walked towards her, sitting in the sand in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, her hair blowing in the wind. He wanted to touch her, but was afraid that she would disappear.

She turned to look at him then and smiled. "I was wondering when you would get here."

He knew now that he was dreaming. This is not the Lisbon that he had seen last, this was the Lisbon of a year ago, the Lisbon he knew before that night in the hotel room. This was the Lisbon that loved him, that was willing to sleep with him and then go back to normal because she had wanted that time with him. This is the Lisbon that he would never get back, and while it lasted he would be ok with that.

"Lisbon, I'm sorry I've been so…" He was at a loss for words, how had he been acting exactly? Like a jerk, he'd ignored her, tortured himself with what couldn't be.

"Jane, I know. I know that you haven't been yourself. I know that you thought that what you were doing was for the best." She stood facing him now, pulling him to her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He found himself crying into her shoulder, grasping at her, not wanting to ever let her go. He was stroking her hair, her back; wanting to convince himself that she was real, that this wasn't some sort of dream. "I love you, I have for ages; but I can't… I can't do that to my wife."

"I know Jane, I know. I love you too. I know you love your wife, I know you want Red John before moving on. I know that." Jane wished again that this wasn't a dream. That this was the real Lisbon saying these things to him; that she was real and there in front of him.

"I don't regret that night; I've never regretted it, not really. I regretted the next morning. I never should have told you it was a mistake, I should have held on to you for all that I had." He was talking to the top of her head, his lips pressed to her hair.

He pulled her back so that he could see her face. She had tears in her eyes too. Why was his dream Lisbon crying? She should be happy and smiling that beautiful playful smile of hers. "Don't cry, please don't cry. I'll do better. I'll stop being such an ass, such a coward. I'll stop drinking, I know I lied to myself when I said that you didn't notice, when I said that you couldn't tell; I knew you could. I'm sorry. I'll do better. I will. Even if I'm not happy, even if I'm haunted by thoughts of what if, I'll be happy for you. I just don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me Jane; I'll always be there. Just don't lose yourself." She smiled at him now, bittersweet and beautiful. He knew it was a dream, but he couldn't help it, he cupped her cheek with his hand and leaned down to kiss her, pressing his lips to hers softly, moving against them in a familiar rhythm. He pulled her close with his other hand, not wanting to let her go; but at the same time, he knew that this dream world of light and sunshine was fading, and Lisbon was fading and the darkness was coming back.

It was the pain that finally woke him. Not the noises -- and there were plenty -- or the smells. He wondered why he was in pain. And then he remembered. He'd been hit by a car. How he knew that he didn't know. Probably the apparent lack of pain medication that was currently keeping his head clear enabled him to remember what had happened to land him here. He hated hospitals. He tried to focus on the pain, tried to figure out what he had injured, but his whole body seemed to throb.

He didn't open his eyes; there in the back of his mind was the image of Lisbon on the beach with windswept hair. He could feel in his gut the pain that was still there, but for the time he'd been gone, Lisbon had been there for him; he'd not been haunted by the drinking, by her engagement. He wondered if in real life she would be there, if she would be waiting to find out what had happened to him, why he had run into the street.

He wondered himself. He'd been ready to end it all up on the roof, to try to fly, but now… Now that he had that image of Lisbon, he wondered, was it all worth it? The pain was proof that he hadn't died, and he was actually glad for it. He'd been so ready to end it up on that rooftop with the whole world laid out beneath him, but now…

Only, Cho knew what he had planned to do; and Lisbon, she said he needed help. He knew what kind of "help" she thought he needed; a rehab program, or worse, in-patient psychiatric care because of his suicide attempt in addition to the alcohol abuse. But he couldn't bear to be locked up in the mental facility again, locked up like a criminal. He knew that he could talk the doctors out of keeping him longer than necessary, even if he had to be a thorn in their sides; but Lisbon, she was a different matter. He didn't want her attention because of this; he didn't want her to think that his trying to kill himself was just a ploy for attention. It wasn't really. He'd truly been that disturbed, but he was over that now, he really was.

He was ready to turn over a new leaf, ready to admit that while he had screwed up and left Lisbon, he still wanted whatever part of her he could have in the new life she was planning. It wasn't ideal, but it was something. He tried to move, but then stopped, the pain was too bad. Why weren't they giving him pain medication? He needed something, anything, to dull the pain.

That thought gave him pause. Is that why they weren't giving him pain medication? Because of what he'd done? He'd just been drinking, too much alcohol, but no drugs. That was it. Would Lisbon have told the hospital, the doctors, that he couldn't have pain medication because of his… his problem? No, she wouldn't have, she couldn't have… but, then again, the more he thought about it, she probably had. Everything he knew of her pointed towards that. Everything he knew of her said that she would do all in her power to keep him safe now that she knew what the problem was. Would she think that in addition to the alcohol he'd been taking his sleeping pills as well? Because he hadn't -- Well, not very often. Would she have told the doctor that his running into traffic had been the direct result of his failed attempt to jump off a building? Probably, because even when he'd been in that tailspin she had cared.

He focused once more on the image of his dream Lisbon, watching her fade. He wanted her to be real so badly, and wondered if it was too late... Would she even consider him anymore, flawed and broken as he was? Was she so happy with Simon that she would never even consider him? What would he need to do to even have a chance? Or, would he need to just be there, fixed, at her side, supporting her when she said "I do" to another man. He opened his eyes the, struggling to focus, struggling to see anything through the mess of machines and wires that he was hooked up to. And he saw her, standing there, watching him, a look of pain and hope on her face as she looked him in the eyes; and he felt a small glimmer of hope again, hope that he might be able to once again be free.

**Authors Note: **I know, another one. SO, I'm not sure I like this ending. Now that I've saved Jane, I realized that I wanted to SAVE him. AS such, I'm working on a sequel. Not that it'll be up soon, but let me know if you'd be interested in something like that and I'll try to get it going as soon as possible.


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